Aftermath
by White Rose Withering
Summary: Follow up to White Night Fantasy. Decisions, Adoration, Repercussions
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Spooks and all its characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.

**Author's Note:** This is the first chapter of the follow up to White Night Fantasy, so if you haven't read that I suggest that you do so at once.  
I'm not sure I've done this justice, but I'll leave that up to you, please read and review! (Edited on the 6th of July 2006 to make it easier to read)

**Aftermath – Chapter One**

Her station had been empty all morning. The grid was disturbingly vacant of the trace of vanilla that seemed to follow her around, an almost edible scent. Any other morning he might have been happy not having such a distraction. But her absence was nothing more than a bitter reminder of the mistake that had been made last night.

Harry had spent most of the morning staring at her desk from the safety of his office. Lost in thought. Wondering when everything had taken such a disastrous turn. He could remember a time when personal feelings were better off buried, locked away in some dark corner of the Thames House basement. But this remorseless emotion that he felt for her wouldn't be suppressed any longer. There wasn't a minute of the day that he didn't think about her.

They were bound to notice, if they hadn't all ready. They all worked so closely together that it would be impossible not to. More than once he had walked blindly into a hushed conversation. It hadn't taken a genius to work out what was the hot topic.

He had been so distant. Surveillance reports were going unsigned, housekeeping was going unchecked. There was a mound of reports that needed his signature that he hadn't even looked at. Not to mention the New Year's budget that needed his approval. He didn't engage with any of it.

The sleepless night had taken its toll, and what little he got of it hadn't prepared him for the chaos of the grid. He found himself using the friendly faces of the admin staff for shouting practise. The few officers that dared to approach him to ask about their colleagues' absence had only been met with cold looks.

Things had gotten worse once Juliet Shaw had made an appearance. Her presence on the grid sent the stress levels through the roof. Harry ushered her into his office with a sweep of hands and a less than friendly look.

"Why hasn't any progress been made with Price?" Her fangs were out and going for the jugular before the door was even closed.

Harry stopped for just a moment and took a deep breath. He had to count to ten to stop himself from saying something scathing. He walked around his desk and sat down. He took great care in rearranging certain objects, moving a pen from one side of the blotter to the other. Just like he knew she would, she started stamping her foot, impatiently.

At long last he said, "We're working on it."

"Not good enough." She folded her arms over her rather expensive suit. Her expression frosty. "No where near good enough. Put another team on him."

Harry had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from saying something that he would later regret. He never had to watch himself more than he did around Juliet. She was one of those people that only brought out his bad side. "I only have what's available."

"Which is what?"

He looked up, dropping his pen on the paper that was still void of his signature. "Officers that aren't currently following four suspected Iranian terrorists and a gun for hire threatening the life of the PM." His voice was bordering on sardonic and he didn't care.

She frowned. Deep, dark lines marking her face. "You don't seem entirely committed to this Harry." He wondered if she realised that she was stating the bleeding obvious. "If Robin Price's band of merry moron's commit an act of terror on British soil, it'll be your head on the block." She seemed to take great pleasure in reminding him.

He slammed his hand down with such force that the desk shook. The effect was ruined by him having the steady the computer. "If they commit an act of terrorism,_ if_ they do, then I'll have Ruth redecorate this office to whatever colour and format that you and my replacement deems fit and you can personally escort me from the building." He took a shallow breath. "But until then, will you kindly leave us to get on with what we are paid to do."

Juliet's eyes burned with an intense heat that would have liquefied the spines of some politicians. Never before had he seen a look that could kill, or one more terrifying. Once that stare had unnerved him, once.

She started to say something but thought better of it. She turned her back on him and looked out onto the grid. She uncrossed her arms and flexed her fingers. He waited for a comeback, equally as venomous as her glare. But it didn't come. The Juliet he used to know would never have let someone speak to her like that. But that Juliet had been young and foolish. How things change.

"Where's Ruth?" She asked with her back still to him.

He sucked in a breath, it sounded harsh like breaking glass. He could have tried avoiding the question, pretending that he hadn't noticed her absence, but Juliet would never have bought that. Even he had to give her a little credit. "She's…at home, too sick to come in." He was glad she had her back to him, so she wouldn't see the look on his face. "Poor girl," he almost muttered under his breath.

She turned just enough to study him. Her eyes narrowed. He imagined that look on a police officer as they eyed up a suspected murderer that had be found with a body, a weapon, covered in blood and that had pleaded innocent. It was the kind of look that weighed a person up and down, working out whether they were lying or telling the truth.

There was a movement at the door. Zaf stood practically hugging the door frame. His eyes flicked from one to the other and back again. It was clear just how uncomfortable he was. "There's a phone call for you." His voice shook with the effort not to run for cover.

"I have had them before; they've been known to wait." Harry was less than thrilled at the interruption. He spoke without taking his eyes off of Juliet. He always treated meetings with her like a boxing match. Never take your eyes off the opponent unless you want to risk being driven into the ground.

It was a dismissal, and Zaf should have taken it as such. She hadn't wanted to speak to him anyway. She'd been quite adamant that Zaf was just to take a message and leave it at that. But there was a chance, however small, that she might be able to get Harry out of the vile mood that he'd been in all morning. "It's Ruth," he added after a long pause.

Just for a minute, a single minute it had felt like a normal day, or as normal as they got working for MI5. Only for a minute had he forgotten all about last night, the party, the drink, the smell of her perfume, how close they'd been. A small but heavy sigh escaped his lips. "Thank you Zaf."

The young man fled, rubbing the muscle in his jaw. The underlying level of tension was enough to set anyone's teeth on edge.

Harry folded his hands on the blotter and sent a glance at Juliet. With a roll of her eyes, she got the hint. She straightened her suit jacket and headed for the door. "This department is a mess," she said, sternly and full of feeling as she closed the door behind her.

He waited until she was just stepping into the pods before he picked up the phone. For a brief moment he held the receiver to his shoulder, and took a deep breath. "Yes?"

Exasperation was not the term to describe the noise she made. It was a cross between a groan and a sob. Harsh, heavy and achingly sombre. "I told Zaf not to disturb you. It would have been easier to take a message." If you ignored the subtle tone of disappointment, she sounded almost pleasant.

"I assure you, you're not disturbing me." It was worrying just how happy he was to hear her voice. "What can I do for you, Ruth?"

It was far to tempting to say something contemptuous, something that would have made him feel even worse than he already did. But that wasn't why she called; she didn't want to say something hurtful. She sighed; this wasn't going to be easy. "The reason I called….." the words faltered and gathered on the tip of her tongue. She cursed herself. She'd had this conversation planned out for hours, yet as soon as she heard his voice she had forgotten it all. "What I mean is……"

Harry could picture her sat in her living room, cat beside her, its white fur standing out against the dark of her sofa. Rolling her eyes as she groped for the right phrasing. "Ruth," he said her name softly, almost smiling. He was glad he wasn't the only one having problems today.

Over the sound of her sigh, there was a click. Almost as if someone had put their conversation on speakerphone. Thank god for cordless phones.

"Harry, I'm not feeling so good. It…it might be a bug or…something, I don't want it spreading through the grid." Her voice wavered far too much for what she was saying to be the truth. She usually lied a lot better than this.

Harry stopped for just a second to listen to the uncertainty in her voice. He hated hearing her like this. "Ruth," he started but heard yet another click. He parted the blinds just enough to confirm his suspicions. A small cluster of people, no more than five in number, were grouped around Zaf's station. They appeared to be huddled around the phone. Harry felt his jaw clench. "Zaf hang up the bloody phone!" He practically growled into the headset.

A tremor ran through the group as Zaf jerked back from his desk. His hands were slightly shaking, his face as white as a sheet. He hesitated a moment before looking towards the office. Harry glared at the younger man and snapped the blinds shut.

He ran a hand across his temple, a thought ran through his mind. He was getting too old to be dealing with this. "Ruth?"

"I'm still here," though she didn't sound too happy about it.

He nodded, and leaned back in his chair. "Right, are you ill or are you just refusing to come in because of…well." Maybe he shouldn't have said it so bluntly, he could have phrased it a little better, but it wouldn't change the meaning of the words, wouldn't change what he needed to know.

After a long moment she said, "Harry this is so hard for me. I mean last night…"

"Nothing happened last night." He cut her off before she said it. The evening was already on reply, he didn't need her version of things to add to it. "Did it, Ruth?"

There was a soft, wet sound on the line, almost as though she's licked her lips. She exhaled gently. He couldn't even begin to imagine the look on her face. "No," she said at long last. "No nothing happened."

The _what if it had_, remained unsaid.

He nodded to an empty office. It took him a minute to realise that she couldn't see him. "Well then pull yourself together and get in here." His voice was thick, almost choked. After a small pause, he added, "I need you."

"Harry…"

"Work's piling up and, well…I'll send a car." He hung up before he gave her a chance to answer. He stared at the receiver for a minute before returning it to its cradle. He buried his head in his hands, glad that the blinds were closed, and let out a sigh of frustration.

_To Be Continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Spooks and all its characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.

**Author's Note:** This is the closing chapter of Aftermath. I hope it's a little of what people expected from me, and I hope it's a little not.  
Please leave a Review, as I love to read them. (Edited on the 6th of July 2006 to make it easier to read)

**Aftermath – Chapter Two**

Late afternoon soon became late night. The shadows had grown and twisted around the grid, mocking that one stubborn light.

The car had driven up, just like he'd promised. The driver dressed in a stylish black suit, had waited patiently before climbing out and knocking on her front door. She'd watched from the safety of the living room, peering out from behind the curtains. Deciding whether to get in the car or to crawl back into bed with a dozen sleeping pills, a feeble attempt to block out the last 24 hours. It had been a childish thought, although be it a tempting one, and one that she would only despised herself for later.

From the moment she'd set foot on the grid, tension hit her like a blow to the chest. It hung in the air like a rain cloud, waiting to release a torrent. It was a sensation that she could feel with her hands, almost thick enough to pluck from the air.

The gossip had been just as bad, if not worse. Whispered conversations in the corridors and alcoves of the grid. Their eyes following her, watching her every move with some level of scrutiny. Her skin had prickled, the hair on her arms stood on end under their gaze, almost as if it were trying to crawl away from her body.

She hadn't had a moment's peace all afternoon. Her station had been constantly being bombarded with enemy files, everything from surveillance reports that had no place being looked at by an officer of her status to Special Branch assistance requests. Along with the constant threat of questioning from Zaf, she had just about felt ready to offer her resignation.

As it edged towards home time, things had calmed somewhat. The frenzied hearsay had almost disappeared from ear shot, replaced with talks of much needed drinks at the George. Ruth had buried herself in paperwork, hardly giving herself time to think. She had found it so peaceful being on her own. The harsh greys and blues of the grid seemed softer in the fading light. No more fielding question and giving the same tiresome answers. Nothing to cause a distraction. Nothing except that one stubborn light.

She struggled to remember when she'd first noticed it. Somewhere between the Iranians and the Libyans. The soft glow of white, colour leaking from around the edges of the blinds. A shadow pacing the length of the room.

She smiled in spite of herself. They had taken great pains in avoiding each other. Neither of them had even offered a single civil word, yet there she was staring at his office. She wanted desperately to talk to him, even if it was strictly business. Just something, anything to hear him say her name.

It was the last thing she should have thought about, especial after last night. But there was no one on the grid besides them, no one would know besides them. It was more than her job's worth, but ever so tempting. She had to ball her hand into a fist, driving her nails into her palm to stop herself from doing it.

She stared at the little half moon shaped marks she'd made in her palm. Her hand slick with, not blood, but sweat. Her heart hammered in her chest as she raised her hand to the door. The solid, dark wood trembled as she knocked. Each time sounded like a gun shot in an enclosed space. She fought to keep her breathing under control.

His voice came cool, calm and controlled, if not muffled by the door. With one last glance at her now empty station, she slid the door open just enough to slip into the office.

Harry stood on the opposite side of the office, his back flush against the wall. His eyes scanned the carpet, though she doubted he actually saw it, slightly narrowed. He looked up as she slid the door closed. A look passed over his face, almost as if she'd interrupted his chain of though. His expression softened as he looked at her. "What can I do for you Ruth?"

She smiled a smile that she meant to be a frown. A chill ran down her back, raising the hair on her arms. He could shout her name and it would still give her Goosebumps. And then there was that damned question. He'd asked her it twice in the space of four hours. She had got the distinct impression that if she were to ask anything at all, he might just grant it. Not matter what it might happen to be. She leant back against the wall, rubbing a hand up her arm, absently.

The symmetry wasn't lost on either of them. Both at opposite ends of the office, clinging to the walls. They were about as far apart as they could be and still be in the same room.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. "I saw you pacing," she said, softly. She almost bit her tongue to stop herself from laughing. "Well, you know, in…a good way."

He laughed, quietly, almost to himself. It was good to hear. He had the most tangible laugh she'd ever heard. A sound she could almost feel. Warm and comforting. "And there I was thinking that there was no good way to pace." His tone was oddly playful. After the comments she'd over heard from the rest of the staff, playful was the last thing she had expected. "Off home are we Ruth?"

"Yes, I just came to…"

He cut her off before she drew enough breath to finish the sentence. "To say goodnight?"

"Yes," she said, her voice somewhat stifled.

"Well then better say it, hadn't you?"

Harry could go from being so warm to icy cold in a matter of seconds. She'd seen it before; usually it was directed at some next to useless fanatic with no scruples of his own. Ruth had never wanted it directed at her.

But it was different somehow. His words weren't cold. They held the kind of warmth that came from anger, or frustration.

She wanted to say something to take that tone away from his voice. Anything to bring back the playful quality. Words failed her. "Goodnight Harry."

He nodded, slowly and stepped away from the wall. He walked around the desk, trailing his hand over the glass top. It would have been far easier to walk around the opposite side of the desk; it was just an excuse to be near her. She inhaled a sharp breath as he brushed past her, his suit jacket passed only inches from her bare arm. "Goodnight Ruth." His voice held a hint of bitterness the way it sometimes held anger.

She looked towards the ceiling, and flexed her fingers. It took her a second to relearn how to breathe. Her throat felt as though it had closed over. It even hurt to swallow.

He said her name, almost so softly that she didn't hear it. For a brief moment she thought she imagined it. She turned, expecting to see him seated behind the desk. He was so close, close enough to make her suddenly feel claustrophobic. Harry took her hand. She didn't know if he had pushed her or if she had taken a step back instinctively. Whatever the case, she felt the wall at her back, cold and hard. She stared up into those clear brown eyes, usually so guarded; they were filled with a warmth that she couldn't even begin to describe. They seemed to hold her; she doubted she could have moved even if she wanted to.

A sigh to hard would have closed the gap between them. Ruth wanted desperately to wrap her arms around him, to feel his lips against hers. Her skin itched with it. Her breath came in choking gasps.

A soft pressure, almost like silk brushing her mouth. The moment he'd brought their lips together, her heart skipped a beat. For that second, she was utterly passive against him. It didn't take her long to find the rhythm. She wrapped her hands around his arms; the scratchy material of his shirt bunched between her fingers. His own hand lost in her hair, fingers kneading her scalp.

He pulled away with a small sigh, and rested his forehead against hers. "Oh Ruth."

"Don't," she said, warmly. A small smile of pure adoration played across her softened features. She rested her fingers lightly against his lips. "Don't spoil it."


End file.
